


5x05: Damn Adam Levine

by nightbirdrises



Series: S5 Reaction Drabbles [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: Gen, M/M, Reaction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbirdrises/pseuds/nightbirdrises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt (and pretty much everyone else) finds about Blaine's tiny little obsession with Adam Levine.</p><p>Set just before s3 graduation. Warning for underage drinking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5x05: Damn Adam Levine

**Author's Note:**

> This is only tangentially related to the episode itself, oops, but it's still a reaction in my opinion.
> 
> tumblr: [[x]](http://princehummel.tumblr.com/post/67124575830)

"C’mon, you gotta drink, man, it’s your last Friday night before that shithouse finally sets us free," Puck says, his words slurring slightly. He’s steady as a rock otherwise, though, which Kurt finds mildly impressive.

"Not while I’m still living at home," he insists. "I’m not risking any chance of my dad catching me and giving me a guilt speech."

"Have one, Kurt, you don’t have to get drunk, just loose." Artie rolls around to the other side of the couch and parks next to him, a champagne flute in hand that he offers to Kurt. "We even went all fancy, you can’t tell me you don’t appreciate that." 

Kurt stares at it; finally he shakes his head, says, “Fine, I’ll have this one.” The majority of the group whoops, but there’s a tap at his shoulder. Kurt turns to Blaine, who’s already had a couple of drinks but he still manages to look sincerely concerned.

"You don’t have to," he says quietly as Rachel starts talking loudly about her future plans to nobody’s delight. "Just because they tell you—"

"I want to," Kurt interrupts, smiling as he takes a sip, the dry sour-sweetness of the champagne smooth on his tongue. "I don’t plan on getting trashed or anything. I just don’t feel like being the sober one out yet again."

"I’m s—"

"I swear to god, if you apologize for making out with Rachel  _again_ , I might have to sit somewhere else. It was more than a year ago now, I’m over it.”

Blaine glances down sheepishly, then tucks his head against Kurt’s chest. “I won’t, I promise.”

"Good."

 

* * *

 

Fifteen minutes later, Kurt feels like he’s floating. He can think clearly enough but he’s undoubtedly buzzed, euphoric and giddy in a way he usually doesn’t allow himself to be. He’s still in the same spot on the couch, but sideways, his back against the armrest and his legs stretched over Blaine’s lap. Blaine’s been rubbing small circles into his thigh and Kurt’s pretty sure he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

"We need to play a game," Sam announces to the room. He’s met with affirmative noises and cheers, though part of that may be because he had gotten rid of his shirt who knows how long ago. Kurt knows that’s part of the reason  _he_  cheered — he can look and admire, okay, it’s impossible not to.

"Spin the bottle!"

"No. Absolutely not," Kurt shoots back at Rachel, who pouts. Blaine raises an eyebrow and leans sideways, towards him.

"Over it, huh?" The whisper tickles his ear and Kurt is too relaxed to worry about anyone noticing the shiver that runs through him.

"Okay, maybe not completely over it." Blaine gives him a quick peck on the cheek, nuzzles the spot for a moment, then returns to his original position. Kurt kind of wants him to come back and actually kiss him, their friends be damned, but before he can ask there’s a shout from Santana.

"We’re gonna play Fuck, Marry, Kill, amiguitos! Who’s first?" Kurt shrinks away as much as he can — which isn’t much — but Santana catches his eye. "Alright, prepubescent James Dean. I’ll give you Aaron Tveit, the Biebs, and Zac Efron."

Kurt scoffs. “Marry Aaron, obviously, then I guess I’d do Zac and kill J.B.”

"Ouch," Santana says, a hand over her heart. "Moving on. Link Larkin." Blaine tilts his head and grins, waiting. "Josh Hutcherson, Adam Lev—"

"Oh, oh, fuck Adam Levine," Blaine says immediately, cutting her off. Santana stares, as does the rest of the room, until Blaine seems to realize what he said and how he said it. He crosses his arms defensively. "What?"

"Oh, this is good," Santana purrs. "I’d honestly never have guessed."

"And why not? I like Maroon 5, everyone here knows that."

"Yeah, but it’s not every day the dapper half of Sugar-Sweet Gays Inc. says that he’d fuck their tatted-up lead singer into the mattress."

Blaine mumbles something; Kurt, who has forced himself to say nothing up until now, nudges him. “What’s that?”

"I said maybe I’d like it the other way around. Both ways."

"Oh." Kurt swallows as Rachel gasps and the majority of the room titters delightedly. "Are the tattoos, you know, a thing, or…"

"I don’t know," Blaine says with a frown.

"I bet it’s his singing voice," Puck says, thoughtful. "Can’t the guy sing, like, super high?"

"We _all_  know Blaine loves a guy that can hit a high note,” Santana adds, looking way too pleased about the entire situation. Kurt can feel himself flushing as eyes turn to him — but he doesn’t respond except to stick his tongue out at Santana. They don’t need to know that Blaine’s heard far more than just his  _upper_  range, thank you very much.

Besides, he’s too busy panicking internally to really focus on the conversation. Does Blaine want him to get a tattoo? A lot of tattoos? God, the last person he could compare himself to is Adam Levine. Kurt hears something about Blaine watching and rewatching The Voice and a possible magazine stash but ignores it in favor of his own thoughts.

And then there’s the presence. Kurt’s watched videos of Maroon 5 performances before — he can’t work a stage like Adam Levine, can he? Sure, he can pull off things like Not The Boy Next Door and I’m The Greatest Star, but Moves Like Jagger? Misery?

Blaine can rock those songs just fine. It’s just that Kurt’s not sure if he can do the same. Damn Adam Levine and his rugged attractiveness.

Someone tosses a balled-up sock at Blaine but misses and hits Kurt instead; it snaps him back to attention as he glares around to see who threw the disgusting thing.

"Samuel," he says evenly, "did you throw that?"

"No," Sam answers after the barest hesitation, but it’s too late. Kurt nods slowly, a grin spreading on his face as he reaches to pull off one of his socks. Sam attempts to scramble away, but Santana holds him fast; the sock whips through the air and hits him squarely in the face. "Ugh, dude!"

"Kurt has clean feet, you’re fine," Blaine says, yawning. Kurt’s cheeks get even pinker but he leans up to kiss Blaine’s temple. Or, well, that’s what he was aiming for; he misses and ends up almost poking Blaine in the eye with his lips.

Finn mumbles, “I don’t wanna know how he knows that,” and Blaine instantly launches into an embarrassed, stuttering explanation of how he and Kurt sometimes sit together and debate over the latest reality show scandal with their feet in hot soapy water, how it’s not like  _that_  at all. Kurt half-listens, the corner of his mouth quirked up in spite of his own embarrassment at the assumption. At least it’s a good distraction from the previous subject.

Later, Kurt’s still awake even though he’s positive that everyone else has crashed. He and Blaine managed to get dibs on the couch, so he’s got his boyfriend pressed up along his back, an arm loose around his waist. It’s nice, but Kurt can’t stop thinking about whether or not he’s, you know, enough for Blaine. Which is ridiculous, he knows Blaine loves him more than he ever thought a person aside from his dad could love him, but he can’t help wondering.

The cushions of the couch dip and Kurt turns his head to see Blaine leaning over him and blinking blearily. “What’re you doing awake?”

"Thinking. I’m sorry if I woke you."

"No, no, it just kind of happened, and I could tell you weren’t sleeping."

"How?"

Blaine grins sleepily. “Well, when you sleep, you kind of make this cute little snuffling sound every once in a while, and your muscles get all relaxed. Right now you just seem tense.”

"Do I?"

"Mm. What’s wrong?"

"Nothing, I’m fine," Kurt mumbles, turning his head back to where he started. Across the room, he thinks it’s Puck that’s somehow sleeping upside down on the armchair. Blaine gently squeezes his hip.

"Come on, you can tell me. Unless you can’t, but I don’t know what there is that you couldn’t tell me—"

"It’s stupid," Kurt interrupts. "I should know better."

“ _Kurt_ ,” Blaine says, and Kurt can’t imagine ever getting used to hearing his name being said like that, “you’re not stupid, ever.”

Kurt takes a deep breath. “Fine. I was just thinking about how you’re into Adam Levine, like _really_  into him, and how he has all those tattoos and the way he performs and how blatantly sexual he can be, I know we’ve been having sex and it’s amazing but I don’t think I could ever measure up—” He’s cut off when Blaine presses an open-mouthed kiss to the back of his neck.

"Do you really think I want you to be like Adam Levine?"

"… Yes? Maybe not consciously, but I’m sure some part of you wouldn’t mind… that…" Kurt trails off, hyper-aware of Blaine’s soft chuckling and the way he’s probably rolling his eyes like Kurt’s simultaneously the most adorable and most ridiculous person in the world.

"I love  _you_ , Kurt,” he says. “Yeah, the guy’s hot and really sexy and I might own a few photos from, uh, before we got together, for certain reasons, but I don’t think I could ever actually love him nearly as much as I love you.”

"But… tattoos—"

"I don’t care if you get full sleeves, if you decide never to let the needle touch you, or even if you let yourself go and gain 200 pounds," Blaine says with absolute certainty. Kurt snorts, feeling a little better. "You’re what’s important to me, not what you do or don’t do with your appearance."

"So does that mean I could have surgery to look like a long-lost Kardashian brother and you wouldn’t say a thing?"

"I can’t see you letting a plastic surgeon within ten miles of your face, to be honest."

"Fair point. I do happen to like my face the way it is."

"I like it, too. A lot." Blaine begins mouthing at his skin; Kurt swears he can feel sparks in his nerves with each pass of Blaine’s lips and touch of his tongue. "There is something kind of related to Adam Levine that I’ve always wanted to try."

"What’s that?" Kurt whispers, afraid that if he’s any louder someone will hear him and try to figure out what they’re doing.

"Playing Maroon 5 during sex," Blaine hums, the phrase almost lost in Kurt’s neck. "Their music is made for it, don’t you think?"

"Oh— We could do that," Kurt agrees, heat flooding everywhere. It’s not an ideal situation or he’d suggest that they find an empty room in his house to try it right now — there’s no way to get out without stepping on some member of the New Directions. And he is  _not_ having sex of any kind on this couch, elevated to where anyone could see. “Your house, won’t it be empty tomorrow night with your parents going on vacation?”

"Yeah. We’re gonna do it?"

Kurt smiles, turns over as much as he can to kiss Blaine. It goes a little further than he intended, but at least he manages to break away before they reach the point of no return. “We are.”

Blaine’s eyes are clearly dark even with just the moonlight streaming in from the window to illuminate them. “God, I can’t wait.” And Kurt finds that he can’t, either, something twisting inside him when he thinks about how turned on Blaine obviously is just by the idea of it.

It’s something he files away in the back of his mind, right next to that one spot on Blaine’s right hip and the sound he makes when Kurt sucks and nips at it. After all, who knows when he’ll need that little extra  _persuasion_  to get lucky?


End file.
